Trask Avenue

Over the weekend Red and I made a quick run to the market to pick up a few essentials for the coming week. Milk, bread, lunch fixins. That sort of thing. Our market is famous for moving product around and it’s sometimes difficult to find what you need. What resided in aisle 7 last week may be sitting in aisle 4 this week. It’s a transparent ploy to make you look more closely at all the shelves in the hope you’ll plunge into an impulse buying frenzy. I’m onto their sneaky ways.

When we reached the cookie aisle we couldn’t pass by because you never know what might suddenly be sharing space with sweet snack food. Cookies weren’t on our list, so it was going to be a quick up, out and over. I know many folks consider cookies “essential”. Not me. I’m simply not much of a fan. My cookie indifference stems from three facts.

(1) This isn’t breaking news, but they ain’t good for you. No matter how they’re marketed, no matter how “natural” their wrapper looks, cookies are to a healthy diet what Newt Gingrich is to a healthy marriage. I’m the first to admit I don’t always eat in a way which makes my doctor proud. But I try (sorta) to do my part. I periodically go on crusades where I avoid certain foods. For example, over the past year I’ve reduced my ice cream intake to about 1% of what it was. Even Fritz Van Hagen Daz’s universally acclaimed Cream-o-Meter can’t find traces of the stuff in me. (And yeah, I feel bad Breyers stock took a big hit. That was an unintended consequence. At least they took it better than Ben and Jerry who both now refuse to return my calls. Damn snobby Vermont capitalist hippies.)
(2) Most cookies don’t appeal to me. I realize many people flip over Pepperidge Farm cookies, expensive little buggers that they are. You know ‘em. They come in “classy”, yet curiously flimsy, vertical packages which hold about 15 cookies and sport fancy names. Hey, just because a cookie has a bougie name doesn’t make it a superior baked product. And yes, I’m talking to you Bordeaux.
(3) However, a few select cookies hold enormous appeal. If they’re in my reach I’ll hoover ‘em up like they’re the last morsels of food left on the scorched, post-apocalyptic crust of planet Earth. And that’s not good. (See Reason #1). So I strive to avoid.

On this shopping trip avoidance was futile. A vicious little demon clawed at my brain and declared Reasons 1 and 2 invalid. It obviously noticed the Halloween Oreos.

Oreos are a working man’s cookie. Solid, simple, to the point. Two chocolate cookies with a fresh layer of finely processed sugary semi-solid cream product pancaked between them. When you add to this cacophony of temptation the cream product’s orange-coloring which transforms your regular Oreos into your Halloween Oreos, well that’s what they call a perfect storm, my friends. The vicious little demon cackled and into the shopping cart they went.

Now I’m sitting here far too early on a Tuesday morning writing this nonsense because Reason 3 is in the house in a big, bad way. A little while ago I ate more Halloween Oreos than I will ever admit and washed them down with a huge glass of milk. I know the sugar works the same hyper magic on me that the Champs’ Tequila does on Pee Wee Herman, but the effect this Oreo/milk combo has on my tummy is quite another. Wanting to run around in circles while your insides are rebelling like a coked up Sandinista isn’t as much fun as it sounds. The sad fact is this is not the first time late night Oreos and milk made my stomach feel like it’s playing in an anti-gravity chamber. I realized this was a strong possibility going in, but did I stop? Nooooooo.

It’s generally safe to assume when someone knows something isn’t good for them they won’t do it. Ben Affleck never made a sequel to Gigli. No self-respecting man currently sports a “rat tail”. The Ford Motor Company never brought back the Edsel. You don’t pull the mask off the old Lone Ranger and you don’t mess around with Jim. Maybe someday I’ll learn. For now I hope late, late, late night television is better than I remember and my insides quit bouncing around like a kid on a hippity hop.

the culprit